Shattering
by madasmonty
Summary: "Her heart drummed in her chest so hard it hurt, but it was a good hurt. As her hand traced down his shoulder and over his chest, she could swear that his heart was beating in response, an echo of hers..." Dramione; M for incest/torture/rape. COMPLETE.
1. Waking

**Chapter One**

**Waking**

"_I wake up; it's a bad dream, _  
><em>No one's on my side..."<em>

- _**Keane, "Bad Dream"**_

When Hermione opened her eyes her wished she hadn't. When they were shut, in the moment between sleeping and waking, the world was bad enough: Painful, tasting of blood and smelling of something worse, a world that you'd want to keep at bay for as long as you could. But, staring into the silvery half-light, she could see enough to remember where she was, and why, and wished she'd had the sense to keep her eyes closed.

There were footsteps in the corridor outside, echoing, a long way away, but coming closer. Whoever it is, they were alone. She dreaded to think who it could be: Dolohov, with his cruel groping hands; Lestrange, her high laugh and seemingly endless Crucio curses still rang in Hermione's ears; Goyle, his thick fists barely penetrating her empty mind.

The door opened silently. Hermione froze in surprise: this made a change. Usually they came storming in, cackling and crowing about the atrocious acts they were about to do to her. But the footsteps that followed weren't rushed and excited. Instead, the walker seemed hesitant and nervous. As the quiet footsteps edged closer, Hermione tried to raise her head to see who it was.

"Don't move," A male voice whispered softly. "Keep still... please..." It sounded like there was something wrong with his voice. Hermione would have frowned if it didn't hurt so much. She _knew _what he was doing. She remembered it in some deep recess of her mind. It began with a C... In desperation she clawed at the word. What was he doing, this strange boy?

The moment she felt the cold hands touch her body she flinched away. How could she have been so _stupid_? She thought he wouldn't be the same as the others. That he wouldn't... But they all wanted the same thing. To fuck her. That word she knew the meaning of. It was used to often; she couldn't _not_ know what it meant. Even if she'd forgotten all the other words. That word came with pain. That word meant things going inside her and making her bleed.

But what followed was not the usual tirade. Instead the cold hands carefully stroked her, sending feeling to places where she'd long since been numb. She felt his hands touch her... arms. That's what that part of her body was called, she remembered.

"Oh, Hermione..." There it was again, that noise. What was it he was doing? He was stumbling over his words, tripping the consonants and slurring his voice. "W...What have they done to you?"

Her mind dredged up a tiny offering of wisdom. He was asking a question! And she knew the answer. She knew what they did to her. It was what they all did to her.

"Fucked me." The words were torn from her throat, causing her immense pain. They were ugly words, and they stained the silence with their hideous sounds.

The strange boy swallowed slowly. He took a few gasps (Hermione knew what they were; she had gasped herself many times). It was silent for a few more seconds, save the pounding of her blood in her ears. Before:

"Hermione... Do you know who I am?"

Ah! Another question! This odd boy was getting predictable. But she knew the answer to that question too. It was the same for every male who entered her room.

"You are my master."

The noise began again, but this time it was like it wouldn't stop. The sound of the boy's breath hitched and spluttered. He made sounds that Hermione recognised but could not name. She had made those sounds herself too, alone in the dark. While they were violating her too, before she learnt the meaning of "Punishment". But she could not name it. Among those noises, there was repetition of words too. "Oh God. Oh God. Oh God."

"Master?" Hermione said softly.

The sound stopped and he gave another little gasp, looking up at her. Her eyes had become accustomed to the gloom now, and she could see his face. He appeared to be pale white, but his eyes were a strange red colour, and his skin was flushed. Little drops of water were running down his cheeks. To Hermione, it looked as though he was bleeding liquid silver from his eyes.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

He blinked at her a few times, seemingly unsure of what to say. His voice was croaky and broken when he finally spoke. "My name is Draco," He said. "You must call me Draco, do you understand?"

She nodded, not daring to look at him now. She daren't question this odd request, though the name sounded familiar. Draco.

"Do you know your name?" Draco asked her, ignoring her previous question.

Hermione kept her eyes trained on the floor; they often didn't like it when she looked at them while they questioned her. This Draco boy was certainly predictable. She had been asked that question before as well.

"Of course I do, Mast... Draco." She said quietly, remembering to acquiesce to his abnormal request. Words were getting easier now; this was the most she had spoken since she could recall. "I am a filthy little Mudblood."

"Christ..." He whispered. Then he shut his eyes for a few seconds, before saying: "Your name is Hermione Granger."

Hermione. Granger. Again, like the name Draco, that name rang in her mind. She felt something strange build up inside her. It felt... warm. It felt so odd she almost wished it would stop. So far removed was this emotion from her usual ones that she wasn't sure if she liked it.

Draco moved and stood up, turning to go. He reached the door and turned back. "And, Hermione." He paused, waiting for her to look up in response to her newfound name. "That 'thing' I was doing earlier. I was crying."

With that he left, and shut the door behind him.


	2. Counting

**Chapter Two**

**Counting**

"_One, two, three, four,_  
><em>Tell me that you love me more..."<em>

- _**Fiest, "1, 2, 3, 4"**_

"Draco...?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Why does it hurt real bad, Draco?" Her voice was soft and quiet. She sounded so _young_. It bewildered Draco how anyone could harm her in the way that they had. But then again, this _was _his Aunt Bella they were talking about. And if she could do what she'd done to him... Draco pushed that thought away.

The sound of sizzling and the scent of meat cooking filled the cell. The wet cloth touched Hermione's raw skin, as Draco attempted to cool her wounds. It must have hurt her terribly, but she was so used to pain she didn't even flinch. Draco gently eased the cloth off the burns on her arm and surveyed the damage. Her skin was red-raw and scalded. However, as he tried to calm the heat, Draco could see that the bruises and scars that had littered Hermione's body before still remained. A countless number. The burning was the doing of Bellatrix. Even from several corridors away, Draco had heard her yells. His Auntie Bella had wanted to see if the Mudblood was filth all the way through, by removing each layer of skin.

_Yeah, _a tiny voice whispered in his head, _but at least she didn't..._

_SHUT UP!_

He couldn't think about that right now. He had to help Hermione. He had to fix her.

_And why is that?_ The voice sneered. He'd never noticed how like his Aunt that voice sounded. _Why would you, a Malfoy, help a Mudblood like her?_

Shaking his head ferociously to remove that irritating voice of rationale, Draco pulled the cloth away for the final time. He surveyed Hermione's wounds again, to check she was healing. Bits of white cloth were stuck to her skin, and the redness was dyed with mottled green and purpling bruises. White lumpy scars tracked her body and, where the wounds on her shoulders and back had begun to scab over, her hair had been caught under the dry skin. Draco didn't think he'd ever seen something so pitiful in his entire life.

"It hurts you, Hermione," he said, finally answering her question, "Because it's so unbelievably _wrong_ that it... It's just..." He couldn't finish. Words could not describe it. Instead, he decided to teach her some more.

"Do you know what _counting_ is Hermione?" Draco asked her clearly and deliberately. He tried to include her name every time he addressed her, so that she knew it was her real name.

Her brow furrowed. "I think I remember..." She said, slowly. "One...?"

A smile broke across Draco's face. "Yes, yes! That's it Hermione! What comes next?"

She hung her head in shame and stared at the floor. So accustomed was she to being punished when she did something unsatisfactory, that she expected what was going to come next. "I don't know, Draco." She whispered.

He sighed. "I've told you this before, Hermione. There's no need to be ashamed. So, you don't know? Doesn't matter. I'll teach you."

Her eyes flew up at this statement. Teach? That word sounded familiar.

"But we don't have anything to count..." Draco's voice trailed off as his eyes fell onto her body. Scars. Bruises. "Actually, scratch that last statement," He winced. Bad choice of wording. "We _do_ have things to count."

His pale hand reached out and touched a bruise on her rib. "One." He said, clearly. Then he touched another bruise on the adjacent rib. "Two." Then he touched the scar on her shoulder. "Three." Then the cut on her neck. "Four". Then a scab on her knee...

This continued for some time. Hermione didn't seem to be tiring of learning, and Draco guess that was her old self kicking in. She was still a sponge, ready to soak up knowledge. They reached ten, before Draco froze. His grey eyes lit up with an emotion that Hermione could identify with. Fear.

The sound of footsteps rang through the corridor. Someone was coming fast towards Hermione's cell. The clipping quality of the shoes told Draco that it was Bellatrix Lestrange. His aunt.

Hermione smiled to him. "Listen Draco," She said. Either she didn't realise what the footsteps meant or was beyond caring. Probably the latter, Draco reasoned. She must have made the connection between footsteps and the pain that arrived shortly after. But she had become so used to it, she was beyond caring. And she seemed so pleased with herself too. "Listen Draco, I can _count_!" She grinned. "One, two, three, four, five, six... Um... Eight. Ten!" She cried, proudly. "See?"

But he didn't answer. Instead he huddled himself into the darkest corner of the cell and didn't make a sound. He knew he was going to be killed. Or worse. He wasn't counting the sounds of his aunt moving closer to them as footsteps, rather as seconds ticking by on a clock until he was punished for aiding a Mudblood.


	3. Torturing

**Chapter Three**

**Torturing**

"_Pain; without love  
>Pain; like it rough..."<em>

_**Three Days Grace, "Pain"**_

Bellatrix Lestrange swooped into the cell without even a pause. Her arms were flung wide and her smile was manic. Her black dress rustled around her in a swirl of smoky disarray and her eyes glinted with mischief. Anyone could see she had dark deeds on her mind.

Hermione curled into a foetal position and whimpered ever so slightly. She hadn't been afraid while the footsteps were coming, but now Bellatrix was here. And Bellatrix was the worst of them all.

She didn't even wait for Hermione to take a breath. She was obviously furious about something. "Crucio!" She shrieked, brandishing her wand at Hermione.

Pain was tearing at her. Jagged burning nails, burrowing and digging into her flesh, ripping and shredding her muscle. She screamed and thrashed, flailing desperately and uncontrollably.

From his hiding place in the dark, Draco contained a sob. He clenched his teeth together to stop any sound from escaping and dug his nails into his hands, drawing tiny droplets of blood, to distract himself from the horror that was playing out before him.

The wand pointed at Hermione flicked lazily and the pain instantly stopped. She lay panting and clammy on the ground, her frail body trembling like a leaf. But the relief was short-lived.

"Crucio!"

Hermione keened a high wail, curling up on herself. The pain. It was back. She screamed, thrashing in a desperate attempt to escape. She managed to do nothing but smash her skull into the ground. She forgot everything. She forgot that Draco could see everything that was happening. She forgot how much it would hurt him to see her in such distress. Her mind was stripped away, and all that remained was the burning agony.

Her throat was beyond raw. She could taste the iron tang of blood trickled down her throat and windpipe, and grimaced, panting and gasping for air. God. Please let it stop soon. Please. She would die...

Hermione's bruised and broken body was quivering on the floor. There was nothing covering her, clothes were a privilege she was not worthy of. This gave Draco full view of every bruise and scar. He screwed his eyes shut against the sight. He could no longer see her, but the image was burned onto his brain forever. And the screams still rang out. They were accompanied by a manic laughter.

"You don't like that, do you? You filthy worthless Mudblood!" Bellatrix's voice was shrill with ecstasy.

Hermione could barely be heard. Her voice was thick with tears and blood, hoarse from screaming. "P-please..." She gasped.

"Please?" Bellatrix mocked, "You want _more_? You like being reminded what a vile piece of filth you are? Hmmm?" The laugh that followed was cold and heartless. "Crucio! _Crucio_!"

Hermione choked out a rough sob, her entire form shaking. A gash across her cheek that ran to the bottom of her chin split back open at her movements, the dark, dried blood cracking and flaking. Crimson blood seeped through the cut, spider-webbing down her face.

"I could do this all night, Mudblood." Bellatrix smiled. She bent down beside Hermione and whispered softly in her ear: _"There's no one here to stop me."_

Hermione's eyes rolled in their sockets as she sought out Draco in the darkness. He was twitching in the corner, his eyes tightly shut and his hands over his ears to attempt to blot out what was happening. He was slowly rocking himself back and forth. Hermione kept her eyes trained on him, even as the next Cruciatus Curse shot through her aching body and wrenched the helpless begs and mindless screams from her weary lungs.

After what seemed like hours, the pain stopped. Without a word, Bellatrix stood and left.

Hermione was left on the blood-smattered floor. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps and she was shaking uncontrollably.

Draco stood up and walked over to her as fast as he could. His grey eyes glistened with tears as he knelt beside her and softly began to sing a tune and weave patterns over her wounds. He couldn't get rid of them completely, but he could lessen the pain. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.

"I'm sorry-"

"D-Don't-"

They both said at the same time. Hermione's deep eyes looked up into Draco's cold ones and they stared at each other for a moment too long. There was silence again.

"I'm sorry I didn't stop her." Draco whispered. "God, Hermione, I'm so, so sorry." He took a deep breath. "I wanted to, I just-"

"Draco," Hermione said, so quietly that he had to lean closer to hear, "It's... alright. I... understand." She took a shuddering breath. "Don't... Tell..." She lapsed into silence for a second, before mustering the energy to continue. "Don't tell them I was crying."

Draco said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

"Don't tell them I was scared. Please, Draco. Don't tell them I'm hurt."

"Don't tell who, Hermione?" He asked softly.

Her eyes rolled crazily in their sockets. "Ron and Harry. Don't. Tell. Don't want them to... worry. Don't say any... thing. Promise me, Draco."

Draco sobbed at her words. Harry and Ron didn't even know where she was. They didn't even know that she was still alive. "I won't tell them, Hermione. I promise."

"Not Rarry and Hon..." She muttered. "They'll be... scared... for me. Can't be scared... Not them. Not friends..." She shook again, a spasm shooting through her entire body. With the lasts of her remaining strength, Hermione grabbed Draco's wrist, stopping him from healing her momentarily.

"You're my... friend." She gasped out. Then her eyes lost focus and she collapsed, losing consciousness from the pain.


	4. Caring

**Chapter Four**

**Caring**

"_What is love?_  
><em>Somebody show me..."<em>

- _**Jennifer Lopez, "What Is Love?"**_

Draco sat on the dirty floor before Hermione. He was staring at her, his grey eyes shining. She wasn't looking at him, but instead hanging her head and keeping her eyes on the ground. Her tangled crispy hair hung down in strips, hiding her face, and her knees were drawn up to her chest, covering her breasts. Her nakedness had never bothered Draco before, she'd usually been too damaged for him to notice it, but today it was noticeable. Sure she was still covered with injuries, but she wasn't in immediate peril. This gave him time to admire her.

Her skin, where it was not damaged, had healed from the burns. It was now a light cream colour, occasionally smattered with red gashes or yellow bruises. Her legs were criss-crossed with white scars and her arms were decorated with bruises and scabs. Her once shiny, bouncy hair hung limply around her thin face. She was thin all over. Her ribs were visible and Draco was sure he could wrap one hand around her wrist and snap it in half.

Hermione raised her head and caught him watching her. Automatically she raised her hands and hid her injuries, her eyes fearful. Draco's hand shot out and he gripped her arm to stop her from hiding herself.

"Stop," He whispered. "Don't hide. You're beautiful."

She frowned in concentration, trying to remember what _beautiful_ meant again. He had taught her this, she recalled. Ah yes! She remembered. _Beautiful_ meant good. _Beautiful_ meant the opposite of Lestrange and Dolohov and Goyle and all the others.

"You are beautiful, Hermione." Draco repeated, his voice full of meaning. He stroked her shoulder carefully, the way the others sometimes did. But it didn't feel like it did when they did it. It didn't feel bad. She wanted him to keep touching her. But she couldn't put the feeling into words.

"Don't you _ever_ let anyone tell you otherwise," Draco told her fiercely. "Not my Aunt Bella, not my Father, not my Mother, not _anyone_. You are amazing. Your injuries are too. An injury doesn't form on a dead person. An injury means, '_I survived_.' D'you understand?"

Hermione nodded. She did, sort of.

Draco kept his hand on her shoulder and slowly trailed the tips of his fingers down her arm. He kept his eyes fixed at her face the whole time, checking to see if she was okay with what he was doing.

And she _was _okay. His touch was sending tingles through her body and made her quiver softly. But not with fear or pain, like she usually did. Instead she felt a spread of something rush through her core. If she had to describe it, she would say it felt like... gold. Her veins were running with liquid gold.

Her eyes rose to look into his. Suddenly it was as if she was looking at him through a camera lens zoomed right in, the world pausing for that tiny span of time before the opening and closing of the shutter. He was staring at her with such a fierce emotion in his eyes that she couldn't name, and his breath had quickened. As he swallowed his Adam's apple bobbed in his pale neck.

"Hermione?" He whispered, like he didn't want to speak too loudly for fear of breaking the magic of the moment.

"Yes, Draco?"

His eyes never left hers. He didn't even blink. "Do you know what love is?"

Her brain struggled to comprehend the word. Love. She searched her weary mind and scrabbled internally for a definition. He had taught her so much in their time together. But she didn't remember.

"No." She said, finally, her voice riddled with shame.

The disappointment was tangible in Draco's eyes and he finally looked away from her. "Doesn't matter." He said softly. "Forget I asked."

There was a short silence.

"Draco," Hermione asked, "Please tell me what love is." The word tasted odd in her mouth. She didn't know how she'd never said it before now, or never remembered saying it. It tasted like long-forgotten happiness and goodness. She liked the feeling of it as it rolled around in her mouth and spilt off her lips, colouring the world with its possibility. She wanted to say it again. "Love." She repeated.

Draco looked back to her, his eyes gazing deeply at all of her. He took in the sight of her. He drank in her bare breasts, her long legs, her thin arms and her innocent eyes. Even after all that happened, she still managed to look so _young._

"Hermione, I..." He began. His voice stalled and he took a deep breath. "Hermione I love you."

She frowned. "I don't understand."

Draco sighed. Quietly he muttered. "Maybe, one day, you will."

He stood up and turned away, without a backwards glance, heading for the door.


	5. Remembering

**Chapter Five**

**Remembering**

"_And beautiful you are,  
>So gone with the sin my darling<em>_..."_

_**H.I.M., "Gone With the Sin"**_

_One Year Earlier _

_It started again. Sun before the storm. And the room, where he lay on his side, was almost completely dark._

_The only torch in the room was burning at the dark door. But the quivering light of it wasn't enough to illuminate the corners of the room. Draco's light skin glowed pale as the small rays of light play on it, casting deep shadows on his face. _

_His strength decreased by his every movement. His legs felt heavy. _

_She smiled. That was the only time he really pleased her. She may brag about how her nephew was the most emotionally detached, callous boy of his age. But she didn't really mean it. He only truly pleased her when they were alone._

_His heart beat in the same beat as the seconds changed in the clock. He knew what was coming next, inevitably. It has always been. The same cold feeling settled in his stomach._

"_Please," He begged, though he knew it would do no good, "Let me go, Aunt."_

_Bellatrix's voice broke the restful air. "My dear Draco. Don't sound so scared, you know what I think about fear. It is a weakness. Are you weak, Draco?"_

_He couldn't answer. He felt her fingers in his hair. She swiftly pulled his head back, digging her nails into his scalp. "Are you?"_

_Draco tried to nod, but it hurt too much. He managed to gasp: "No, Auntie."_

_She loosened her grip of his hair. Her sharp nails traced an invisible pattern over his cheek and down to his shoulder._

_"Your skin is cold. Are you cold, Draco?" Her voice was dangerously soft._

_"Yes, Auntie." He whispered, knowing she wanted his discomfort._

_She smiled at him as he lay there helplessly. He knew that smile; it may seem honest and pure, but those eyes... Those eyes revealed it all, they revealed the madness within. They told stories of thoughts that an Aunt should never have for her nephew. Everything in her was cold as steel; her words were poison and her glance was indescribably deserted. And there she was smiling at him. Even when she wasn't saying anything, she was lying._

"_You are beautiful, Draco." She hissed, her hands coming to rest on his chest. "Your skin is so like the Dark Lord's. So..." She breathed deeply through her nose, as if scenting him, "Dead." She concluded. _

_Draco tried to block his Aunt's voice from his mind. He focused instead on an image that surprised him. Hermione Granger._

_He'd always found her pretty, in her own recluse way. Her hair shone like a halo and her dark eyes were so bright all the time. He wasn't really sure when this realisation happened, but it was sure there. He cared about Hermione more than he should. _

_He saw her beautiful face shining in his mind. Every perfect feature resonated through his head. But then the pain shot through him, burning at his waist. He gasped, but kept his thoughts trained on her. Her gorgeous face was being mutilated with every spasm of pain that went shooting through his writhing body, until eventually her face was burnt away by the utter pain that consumed him._


	6. Betraying

**Chapter Six**

**Betraying**

"_I did this to you, yes I did,  
>I had my own life to save..."<em>

_**Kaki King, "The Betrayer"**_

_Eight Months Earlier_

_Draco was so tired... So aching. All over. His bones were like lead and his skin was sheets of fire covering his wooden muscles. If he moved a stab would go through his head, like a knife was worming its way through his neo cortex. He would have screamed but he didn't have the breath. Every ounce of his energy was focused on merely existing. But he would have stopped that too, if she had let him. He wanted to just shut his eyes and sleep forever. But she would never let him. Not until she was done with him anyway._

_Through the haze of pain, he felt her caress his arm, or was it his leg? He could no longer tell. He wasn't a body anymore. He was just a vessel of pain and agony. But then her hand reached a certain area and he knew she was near his legs. But no... please God no... He was too tired. He was so weary he could barely moan for her._

"_Auntie..." He whispered, his voice dry and cracked._

_He could hear the triumphant smile in her voice as she answered him. She knew she'd broken him. "Yes, Draco?" She asked._

_He shut his eyes against the harsh light of the world. His eyes felt like boiled eggs shoved into their sockets, growing and swelling and spilling out, dribbling down his face._

_He was losing it. Like his Aunt. He had to stop this._

"_Please... I'll do anything, Aunt. Just stop. I promise. I... I'll just... God. Please..." He trailed off incoherently, sobbing as much as his tired body would let him._

_Bellatrix looked off into the distance, unbeknownst to Draco, and contemplated his offer. She could always give it a trial run, see how his "promise" held out, and then go back to him if it wasn't any good. Besides there _was_ one thing she wanted. _

"_The Mudblood Granger." Bellatrix said, simply. She felt her nephew stiffen beneath her with shock. "Bring me that piece of filth and you shall be free. Bring me Granger," She leant so close that he hair tickled his chest, "And I'll never hurt you again."_

_Draco's brain was working on hyper-drive, whirring at a million miles an hour. In a mere matter of milliseconds, he had come to his decision._

"_She and her... friends..." Even in his broken state, he couldn't keep the contempt from his voice, "Were talking one day... In the library... Weasel kept mentioning some place called... Time Send? Time's End?"_

"_Tyme's End," Bellatrix mouthed. For the first time ever in Draco's presence, she wasn't moving. She had gone sickeningly pale and she was totally still. Her normally wild eyes had widened and glazed over._

"_They said they were going there as soon as they could. Hermi... I mean Granger, mentioned a locket."_

_Bellatrix made a noise akin to a dying animal. A tiny, strangled squeal from the depths of her throat. If Draco didn't know better, he'd say she was about to faint. She took several deep breaths and slowly slipped of him._

_Without another noise, she stood up. She smoothed her dress and blinked slowly a few times. After composing herself, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room. Leaving Draco. Alone._

_He let out a tiny sound that, to someone watching, would seem like a breath. But he was trying to speak. The energy had at last drained entirely from him. So instead he said it in his mind._

"_Hermione. I'm so sorry. I... I had to. She would have eventually killed me. I couldn't take it anymore. I'm not strong enough. I'm so tired... Please tell me you understand."_

_Silence._

"_It's... uh... That's fine. I get it. I'd hate myself too. I'm just so sorry. I'll come visit you... When she..." He couldn't finish._

_Silence._

"_I'm a Malfoy. It's what we_ do._ I have to survive. I'm the product of thousands of years of inbreeding. I had no choice. Survival is in my very being. I sacrificed your skin for mine. And I'm so sorry." _

_Again, his speech was met by silence._

"_But, know this. I love you Granger. I love every inch of you, right down to your Mudblood core. And I didn't mean to... hurt you. I just had to. Please, Hermione. Please answer me. Just tell me you understand why I had to do it."_

_The silence that answered him was as impenetrable and long as the darkness that filled the room._


	7. Regretting

**Chapter Eight**

**Regretting**

"_Tortures of the damned you'll find  
>Guilt preys upon the human mind..."<em>

_**Flotsam and Jetsam, "Suffer the Masses"**_

Hermione looked up when Draco entered the room. She smiled when she saw it was him; she was always pleased to see him. He was her friend. As a few words trickled back into her memory as she lay thinking, in those rare moments when she was alone, she had begun to think of Draco as an angel. He had saved her from the darkness.

He swallowed and sat gingerly next to her. He didn't seem settled, and she noticed. She was beginning to remember things. She could recognise when he was upset.

In an attempt to comfort him, Hermione reached out to touch his shoulder. He instantly froze and gave a sharp intake of breath. Hermione frowned, trying to remember what that meant. It was... good? Wasn't it?

"You are... nervous?" Hermione asked, slowly. She was still grappling with communication.

Draco shook his head quickly. "No." He said. "No I am not nervous. I am fine." He always kept his sentences short when he spoke to her, for fear of confusing her.

"Then," Hermione looked puzzled, "What is wrong?"

Draco rested his head on his knees, which were drawn up to his chest, and took a shuddering breath. He let the guilt wash over him in a wave. It was _his_ fault she was here. _His _fault she was in this pitiful state.

"Oh Hermione... I did a terrible thing." He said, finally.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, when the sound of footsteps coming closer echoed into the room.

Draco was up in an instant, his heart pounding and his breath quickening. His eyes were round with terror and he whipped out his wand in a flash. He looked uncertain for a second, as if he wasn't sure where he was and why he was there.

He then whispered, "I'm sorry," to Hermione. He shut his eyes tightly so that he didn't see the confused look flicker across her face. Then he slowly raised his wand, his hand shaking so much he could barely aim. With the guilt coursing through his veins like poison, he barely managed to hiss: "Crucio."

The door was flung open and Lucius Malfoy entered, greeted by the sight of his son standing over the flailing body of the Mudblood. Lucius allowed himself a proud smile at this. He had always had the suspicion that Draco didn't have it in him for torture. In fact, Lucius mused, this was a good thing. Bellatrix was planning on forcing Draco to torture the Mudblood any day now. But since Lucius had bore witness to his son already doing it, there was no need for Bellatrix's "lessons".

He sauntered to his son's side and smiled wickedly. "Having fun, Draco?" He asks casually.

Draco lowered his wand and kept his eyes on his father. If he didn't look at Hermione he could tell himself that it hadn't happened. He hadn't done it. He had managed, through some kind of superhuman effort, to block her screams from his hearing.

"I was just... teaching the f-filthy Mudblood her lesson." Draco managed to say, forcing the scorn into his voice. He wanted to throw up. If there was ever a time for him to hate himself anymore than he already did, that time was now.

His father patted his shoulder, smiling down at the prone form of Hermione. "You did a good job, Draco." He said proudly. "Look. It's even crying."

Draco felt his breath catch in his throat. God. No. He blinked a few times, before finally mustering up the courage to look down. He didn't want to – In fact he couldn't remember ever wanting anything _less_ in his entire life – but he knew he had to. If he didn't see her then the thought of what she _could_ have looked like would haunt him forever.

As his grey eyes finally looked downwards, slowly and regretfully, he couldn't help but give a tiny inward scream. He wanted to collapse right there. He wanted to fall onto her and cry and cry. He wanted to make her better. He wanted to cling to her and tell her that everything was okay now, that he'd never hurt her again. But one swift look up at his father thwarted these thoughts.

Draco imagined the situation for a second, if he acted upon his emotions. He envisioned his father staring down in disgust for a second, before blasting him off Hermione's broken form and smashing him against the wall. He could practically feel the stone wall collide with his back. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of what his father would do to him as punishment for helping a Mudblood.

_But you love Hermione,_ a quiet voice whispered in his head.

_Yes,_ another voice argued back, _but enough to have... bad things... happen to you? _The feeling of Bellatrix on him. Her nails scratching his skin. Her hair smothering his face. He couldn't face it again.

_At least it's not me._ He told himself. He repeated it inwardly, like a mantra, as he stared at Hermione. Powerless to help, and too terrified to even try. _At least it's not me. At least it's not me._

"Come now, Draco." Lucius said, turning away from Hermione, "Maybe we can return tomorrow. I can teach you how to _really_ make her scream for you." He put his hand on his son's shoulder and gently steered him out of the room.

"Yes, father." Draco said woodenly. He walked with his father out of the room, not looking back at Hermione. He had been too careless. If he wanted to help her he had to be more careful. If he got caught...

Draco made the decision, right then and there, that he would do anything he could not to get caught helping her. He knew the consequences of his aiding a Mudblood.

_At least it's not me._ He thought. _At least it's not me in that place that she's in. I'll never be that pitiful again. I'll never go back to that place where she  
>I<br>we  
>are.<em>


	8. Forgetting

**Chapter Nine**

**Forgetting**

"_Forget everything that I have done  
>Erase it from your memory<em>_"_

_**A Found New Glory, "Forgetting Everything"**_

_He's bad mad sad- _

Hermione's thoughts smashed against the cavern of her skull as she lay alone in her cell. They were like butterflies on adrenaline, too quick and wild to catch. Every time she tried to pin one down to think about it deeper it fluttered away in frenzy.

_Stop it drop it please drop the wand stop the wand please-_

She clutched her hands tight in fists, gripping her hair so tightly that she felt little stabs of pain on her scalp. Her brain hurt. But nothing hurt as much as the betrayal of her friend. Her angel.

How could he have looked upon her? Those very same eyes that had looked at her with such care watched her writhe. That same mouth that had whispered kind words to her hissed the curse. That same boy who had used such strange words, who had taught her so much, had taken her heart and torn it to shreds.

_The pain. Like a knife. Chop. Chop. Chop. God. Drop the wand. Drop. Drop. Drop. Please. Draco. Stop. Stop. Stop-_

She wanted to scream. To yell and kick and hit. She wanted so much to release this mess of emotions into the darkness. To let go of this hurt and pain and sorrow.

_Sorrow. Sorrow. He'll be back. Back tomorrow-_

Hermione felt the warm tears trickle into her ears. She would have rolled over to stop it but to roll over would mean to move. And to move would mean to acknowledge her existence. But she didn't want to exist. She wanted to melt into the rock. She wanted to dissolve into the air and never return. She wanted them to kill her. If she was dead then at least she wouldn't feel this awful battering inside her. She wished she was gone.

_Gone. Ron._

_Who?_

She focussed on that thought, slowly isolating it so that it didn't slip away as so many other thoughts did, skipping off into her subconscious. Who, or what, was Ron?

But, as she thought of this mystery that had aroused her suspicion, the name danced out of her reach once more. She couldn't recollect anything from her shattered memory. As she walked through the shards of her thoughts, the occasionally painful one catching her attention, she could see nothing about a Ron.

She caught sight of one particular memory. Draco. He was looking at her with that strange, unnameable look in his eyes. He was whispering that he loved her. What _was_ that word? Love. But there was no time for that now.

Another memory. Draco again. Making the hurt go away. Healing her. But where had the hurt come from? A darker thought clouded her mind. Bellatrix. Touching her in places that made her feel tingly inside. Saying things. Words that made half-sense to Hermione's ravaged mind.

_Touch me here little miss. Give me a kiss. Come see the Mudblood 'Ciss._

No! Hermione tried to escape the memory but the sharp edges of it cut her. She was trapped. Reliving the pain and hatred and humiliation...

"_And it's really so afraid of you that it will do whatever you say?"_

"_Yes." _

"_Show me."_

_Fire. Oh God the fire. Make it stop. Who's screaming? A question. Like that boy asked. Draco. It's me. I'm screaming. But I'm not me. I'm outside my body. Okay then. She is screaming. Who? You? No. Me. No. Her..._

Hermione blinked. The memory ended there. Probably too much pain to recall. Her mind often shielded her from the pain.

A lot of her memory was smeared with black moments. Just absolute nothingness. Forgotten memories. Times when the pain got too much and she just had to escape herself to get away from it. But they never killed her. They seemed to know just when to stop before she died.

The door opened. No. Not now. She was too tired.

Hermione shut her eyes and prepared to descend into the darkness once more. She knew there was nothing she could do about it. There was nobody to help her. Not even Draco. But the word that followed wasn't the typical word.

"Obliviate!"


	9. Speculating

**Chapter Ten**

**Speculating**

"_Come and take a trip with me  
>To future world..."<em>

_**Hansen, "The Future World"**_

The weather was changing to suite Draco's mood. The sleet that battered the windows of Malfoy Manor was a depressing shade of grey. Endless sheets of rain were sweeping the windows of the manor. He measured the passing days by the changes in the weather.

Five days since the sun shone. Five days since he had wiped Hermione's mind.

Three days since the rain had begun. Three days since Bellatrix Lestrange had announced that they were going to attack Hogwarts. But Wormtail and Draco would stay behind, the ever-present lackeys, to guard the Mudblood.

An hour since the sleet had started. An hour since Draco had sat down opposite Hermione and watched her sleep a fitful sleep. He wasn't afraid to get caught this time, he was _meant_ to be here.

"I want you to stay with her at all times." Bellatrix said, staring him straight in the eyes. "Curse her occasionally, to remind her who's in charge, or just for fun. Your father said you were good at that." Her lip curled into a sickly smile, "You'll have to show me that one day, Draco."

He nodded mutely. He couldn't help but remember the _other_ words that she'd said. Didn't that matter to her at all? Didn't she know how she had destroyed his life?

_She probably doesn't care, _he reasoned. Of course she didn't. To her, he had been a bit of fun and nothing more. Something to pass the time with and waste the energy on. Someone to torture. His auntie Bellatrix had ripped to shreds thousands of lives, and his was just another to add to the pile.

Draco contemplated all of this as he watched Hermione sleep. He could hear Wormtail scuttling about upstairs and wondered, only momentarily, about the little rat of a man. Did he feel guilt that he'd betrayed his best friend? Or was he, like Bellatrix, beyond feeling anything but devotion for the Dark Lord? Actually, Draco knew that not to be true. Wormtail wasn't devoted to Voldemort. He was terrified of him.

_Just like you, _the voice in his head hissed. _If he knew your feelings for Hermione... _The Dark Lord could tear the thoughts for Hermione, thoughts Draco had long since accepted begrudgingly, from his mind. Draco knew that, in accepting his feelings for Hermione, he had betrayed the Dark Lord. But, really, the betrayal had started long ago.

What had been the beginning of it? His inability to murder the old Muggle-lover Dumbledore? What had that been because of? Dumbledore's stupid, stupid words, and the tantalizing prospect they'd offered – freedom, for himself and his family, from the Dark Lord.

The memory pounded through him, and Draco dropped his gaze, putting his face in his hands, that hateful, calm old face staring at him out of the depths of his mind…

_If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means._

_I haven't got any options! I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!_

_I can help you, Draco._

_No, you can't. Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice._

_He cannot kill you if you are already dead. _

_Shut up, you stupid old man, shut up!_

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to forget, but the memory remained.

Safety. Safety offered. He'd begun to lower his wand…and then Aunt Bella, the Carrows, and Greyback. Greyback who had come to kill the other students at Hogwarts, his classmates, his friends, not for any purpose, but for _pleasure_…

Dumbledore had offered him somewhere without the taint of the Dark Lord, a place where the Mark on his arm, on his father's, wouldn't have mattered. Or if it had, he probably wouldn't have cared. Dumbledore, the old softie who let Potter get away with everything because of that stupid scar. Dumbledore, whose mother had been a Mudblood. Dumbledore, who'd been friends with Gellert Grindelwald…

Grindelwald. Dumbledore had known what it meant to not know where he had ever existed, to not know where to go or what to do. Dumbledore had known what he, Draco, had done, who he was, and he'd still offered Draco help, staring into the face of the darkness as he was. He hadn't cared.

Faces streamed out in his mind's eye: Katie Bell when she'd returned to school, after being possessed, now healthy as before; Rosmerta as he'd put the Imperius Curse on her; the Weasel, lying in the Hospital Wing after the poisoned mead; Dumbledore's lined face as Snape hit him with the curse and he tumbled over the edge of the tower like an old broken doll; Hermione screaming as he used the Cruciatus Curse on her...

Draco tried to shake his head in an attempt to be rid of the horrific past. He knew there were people who would tell him that it was good to remember, that the past had something to tell him. Some people might tell him that he ought to listen, should strain in an attempt to hear the whispers of times long gone. But he knew the truth. He knew from the nights he spent in the Coldness. Nights where the darkness closed over him and he could barely breathe, barely think, without wanting to die. Those long nights where his eyes were weary from crying and his bones were tired from running from something he couldn't escape from. All those times where, no matter the temperature, he was freezing. He knew that the past would drag you backward and down, have you snatching at the whispers in the wind and creaking in the trees, trying madly to decipher some reasoning behind it all. Trying to piece together what was broken. But he knew it was pointless. The past was nothing but a weight. It built inside you like a tower of stones. He knew, from experience, that if you heard the past speaking to you, felt it tugging at your back and running its fingertips down your spine, the best thing to do – the only thing – was to run.

As he sat alone in the cell, he knew what he wanted. He wanted to be with Hermione forever.

He knew it was impossible, of course. The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters would be on their tail in an instant. He shuddered in the too-warm cell as he remembered what had happened to Karkaroff. They'd be dead before they could even leave the country. And even if they did, which was unlikely, Draco knew they'd be followed until the death. Nobody escaped servitude to the Dark Lord.

But, despite all that doubt and reasoning, he still wanted to just run. He pictured a scene, for only a second...

A nameless beach somewhere. The ocean is leaving a litter of green pulpy green seaweed, twigs and scrabbling hermit crabs in its wake, and the air smells tangy with salt and fish. A seagull pecks its way across the beach, blinking, leaving tiny claw prints on the wet sand. They are shin deep in the freezing water, splashing droplets at one another. She turns around, sweeping her arm in an arc across the surface of the water. He twists to avoid it, slipping and falling into the water. She is laughing so loud that he could swear that it could be heard across half the world. But that doesn't matter, because they are free now. They have nothing to fear anymore, because they escaped...

Draco blinked. He was back in the stinking, boiling cell. Hermione was asleep, her hair falling in a golden waterfall over her face. Her pale back was blemished with red scars, the curve of her thin legs so clear against the dark floor. God, she was so perfect. He knew he couldn't put her in danger. He unwillingly imagined another scenario, where they had tried to escape. But they, as they would in real life, had failed...

The air is full of screaming and cursing and breaking glass. Somehow Draco has surged forward, pulling Hermione with him. Behind him he hears wild laughter and explosions as the Death Eaters shoot spells, deliberately missing, just to scare them. Hermione falls behind him slightly, as a Stupefy spell hits her in the back of the head with a sickening red flash. He feels her hand tighten momentarily around his, before she collapses to the floor. For a second, as his heart stops beating, he sees everything with complete clarity. He sees Dolohov raising his wand and grinning as he yells the Sectumsempra spell. He sees a crescent of blood splattering up from her neck...

His reverie was broken by the sound of a door opening. He knew that the Death Eaters had left a few hours ago, after Bellatrix had enforced her instructions for guarding the Mudblood. Draco didn't relish a conversation with Wormtail - the man had about as much intelligence as Goyle - so he slipped into the shadows of the corner. Let Wormtail think that he was wandering the manor somewhere.

Draco watched as the short, balding man shuffle into the room. He really was a disgusting individual, Draco thought. His eyes were watering and his hands had never quite recovered from his extended time as a rat. They were permanently curled up in front of his chest, like he was clutching an invisible handbag. Draco felt his eyebrows furrow in distain as he watched Wormtail walk over to Hermione. There was something, visible even in the dark, which he didn't like in Wormtail's eyes. Something that he recognised from his aunt's eyes on those nights when she... Anyway. The thing is his eyes was dark and twisted. Wormtail wanted things from Hermione.

Draco was so shocked at this, this lowly servant daring to go anywhere her, that he could barely move. He watched in utter horror as Wormtail reached his clawed hands out to grab Hermione. Finally, just as he was about to touch her, Draco stood up and stepped out of the shadows.

Wormtail looked up in shock, obviously not expecting anyone to be present. Draco didn't pause as he stormed towards the man, fury etched on every line in his face. His grey eyes were flaming at the atrocity that Wormtail planned on committing.

"Oh, hello Master Malfoy." Wormtail grovelled, smiling toothily. "I didn't see you there. My humblest apologies. You'd like to go first?"

For a second, Draco didn't trust himself to speak. He thought that if he did he'd end up attacking Wormtail. Then he realised. That was it. The only thing that stood between he and Hermione and escape was the little rat-like man in front of him.

He didn't let himself think about the consequences of his actions, immediate or far in the future. He guessed that if he did, he'd end up not doing what he wanted to – what he knew was right. And he knew he had to do it. He couldn't let her stay in this place any longer. He loved her too much to see her suffer anymore. He had to save her, even if it meant killing them both.

"_When you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort..."_

Wormtail didn't even have time to open his little toothy mouth, before Draco had raised his wand and, with a small evil smile, let slip the spell that he'd never had the courage to do.

"Avada Kedavra."


	10. Running

**Chapter Eleven**

**Running**

"_You can still be free if you leave now  
>And don't look back my love..."<em>

_**Alex Day, "Don't Look Back"**_

Hermione awoke to find Draco standing over her, looking away from her. He was facing something out of her vision, his eyes focussed hard on it. He didn't even turn when she stood up, shaking and swaying.

"Draco?"

He didn't glance away from what he was doing. Hermione's eyes swivelled in their sockets to see what was holding his undivided attention. A grey hippogriff stood a few feet away from him, its wings folded back, its beak glinting in the sunlight. Hermione stared in amazement at the way the feathers slipped away, melting into horseflesh as naturally as taking a breath. It was beautiful.

But Draco didn't seem to think so. He was standing before the Hippogriff totally frozen, his face even paler than usual, his stance that of protectiveness and fear. An image flashed into Hermione's mind: Draco lying on the floor clutching his arm, blood seeping through his fingers. Where had that come from? She frowned in the effort to remember more. But she hit a brick wall. Nothing.

Draco took a slow and steady step towards the majestic creature and slowly, painfully slowly, lowered his head into a bow. He was completely still, save a slight involuntary quiver that seemed to be running through him.

She watched in silence as the Hippogriff's muscles tensed. Draco gave a whimper and she could have sworn his eyes were slightly damp. To his credit, however, he didn't move away.

Then, through some kind of miracle, the Hippogriff lowered its head and stretched out its front leg, in some kind of mock bow. Neither Draco nor the Hippogriff took their eyes of each other, and it took Draco a few seconds before he actually registered that it was safe to move.

It was then, finally, that he turned to face Hermione. He had a shaky smile on his face, and looked like he was going to be sick. She recognised his scared expression.

"Come on." He said, the tremor in his voice barely audible.

Hermione stepped towards him, her skin was covered in gooseflesh and she was shaking in the cold. Draco blinked and realised something so blindingly obvious that he wanted to hit himself on the forehead.

"You don't have any clothes." He gasped at his own stupidity. He'd become so used to her nakedness that it was a slight shock to realise that everyone else would find it odd that she wasn't wearing anything. Especially in her condition. God. He was so stupid!

In an instant, he flicked his wand out and healed all of her wounds. It was quite a sight to behold. The cuts and bruises and wounds were knitting themselves together, the red and green and yellow fading to form perfect, unbroken skin. Finally, he Summoned one of his aunt's dresses. It was a non-descript black dress, unflattering and crinkled.

Draco mounted the Hippogriff, silently thanking the lucky stars that his upper-class parents had seen it fit to keep a stable of the beasts. He hadn't set foot in there since his third year, and prided himself on his bravery.

He watched pityingly as Hermione struggled into the dress. He would have helped her but, if he was honest with himself, he didn't think he'd have the courage to get on the Hippogriff again. Instead he called upon what little Malfoy detachment he still had and watched with a cold expression as she finally pulled the dress over her head, tearing it slightly in the process. Despite her inability to dress herself, he felt a pang of jealousy as she climbed onto the Hippogriff with ease.

Draco looked awkwardly down at the Hippogriff, who didn't seem bothered to be carrying two extra weights, uncertain of how to make it fly. He closed his eyes, hardly believing he was doing this, and dug his heels into its ribs. "Hya...?" He cried, unsure if this would have an effect. However, it did. The beast reared and Draco yelled and clutched its feathers back tightly. He felt his heart thump, not from fear, as Hermione's hands gripped around his waist.

They flew for hours. Draco felt his Mark burn, knowing that all the Death Eaters had been summoned to battle, and knowing that it was guiding him to where he wanted to go. He tried his upmost not to look down, for fear of seeing through the thick layer of clouds and catching a glimpse of the world far below. As the sun set, Draco knew that they had to land. It was too dark for him to guide the Hippogriff and he could feel Hermione slouching against him. As good as that felt, common sense was screaming at him that it was dangerous. Cautiously, he guided the Hippogriff into a descent and they landed in the middle of a deserted field. To Draco it seemed as though there was nobody around for a thousand miles.

He dismounted the Hippogriff, landing awkwardly on his ankle, and turned to help Hermione. She was half asleep, and collapsed into his arms. Draco let her lie on the ground, slowly drifting off to sleep, and set to work on the ward charms to protect them. Once he'd surrounded them in a bubble of magic, he settled down beside her. Before any untoward thoughts could enter his mind, he was asleep.

It seemed to Draco that he had merely blinked and it was the morning. He found himself entangled in Hermione's limbs as she hugged him, sleepily opening her eyes too. He leapt up, not wanting to taint her innocence anymore than it had been, and pulled his wand from out of his sleeve.

"I'll get us breakfast. Then we'll go." He said, a little too quickly. He Summoned some berries and mushrooms and shot a spell at a section of grass, creating a controlled fire. Smiling proudly at his achievement, he sat beside her to cook their food. With a swish and flick (Draco couldn't help but see the Weasel struggle with that simple spell at his mind's eye) he levitated the food above the fire and left it there to cook.

The question came from nowhere.

"What does your Dark Mark look like?"

Draco could feel all of the blood rush out of his head, and the hair prickle up his spine. Hermione was calm, and curious-looking, frowning at him.

"I've seen theirs..." No need to say who she meant, "And I guess you have one too. Or they wouldn't be nice to you."

Be nice to you. Draco smiled at her simple phrasing.

"But I've never seen yours." She finished.

"Maybe there's a reason for that." He said angrily. "What do you want to know about it for, anyway? It's..." He wanted to say _te__rrifying. Tainting._ But he knew she wouldn't understand those words. "... A mark in the sky. Or on the skin," he added, flexing his arm in the memory of it.

"I want to know why you went out of your way to get it." Hermione said simply. Her eyes darted to his arm.

Draco pulled his arm away from her, but didn't get up off the ground. "I was a different person back then... And that's not a reason."

"It's a better reason than you've given me for not letting me see it." Hermione replied, scowling at him.

"No." It felt as though his heart had turned into an icy rock, and plunged downward, into his stomach, through his feet, into the earth, far out of reach. "_No._"

"That's not a real answer." Hermione searched his face. "Why not?" She said finally. "What harm could it do?"

"No." He repeated. "You don't know what you're asking."

"Don't I?" She said, and she looked positively dangerous. He could sense something in her eyes, something that he thought he had been ripped from her. Her sense of Gryffindor bravery. That thing that had been burning in her eyes when she threatened to hex him in their third year. "They may have made me forget things, but I'm not an idiot." She argued. "I know what I'm asking."

"No, you don't." Draco said. "No one could know unless they have..." He bit his tongue. "Unless they knew."

It stung his arm to even mention it. Draco clenched both fists in the grass, unable to look at her.

"Draco... Please." She whispered.

"I can't." He said softly.

"You can."

"You don't understand." He shook his head angrily. "You couldn't unless..."

She shook her head. "I know that. But I also know that you hide it because you fear it, because you're ashamed of fearing it, and you're terrified of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." He jumped at the name. "It haunts you. He haunts you. He scares you."

"He doesn't scare you?" Draco asked furiously.

"Of course he does. I'm scared of the Dark Lord, I'm scared of death. Torture. Your family. I'm scared of a lot of things." Hermione said. "But one thing I'm _not _scared of is that Mark."

He didn't move.

Her face slowly softened, her eyes searching his. "Please. Let me see it."

Draco almost said no again. He could taste the bitterness of the word on his tongue. He said nothing. Then he gave a tiny nod.

His hands were shaking. She helped him roll up his sleeve, exposing the black Mark, and he refused to look at it, focusing instead on the grass around his feet. He tore up another two handfuls in the time it took Hermione to look at it. Her fingers danced around it, like skaters on an icy pond, unwilling to activate it. After a long moment, she looked up at him, focused and grim. She didn't roll down the sleeve.

"I see nothing here to be frightened of."

"I do." Draco said. He looked her in the eye. "Anyone else would."

"I don't." She repeated. She held his arm firmly in both hands, smoothing fingertips over skin. Without another word, she lowered her eyes again. "I see nothing here but skin –" She touched his wrist gently, and he could feel his skin prickling at the softness of her fingers "—and ink. And there is nothing there to be frightened of."

Suddenly he jumped, realising their food was beginning to burn. He pulled away from her tantalizing touch and flew a few mushrooms and berries towards her, eating some himself. He knew it wasn't nearly enough for them, but Hermione had survived on worse in her captivity and he could get by on this.

He rolled down his sleeve and, without another word about it, they mounted the Hippogriff and set off into the sky.


	11. Arriving

**Chapter Twelve**

**Arriving**

"_I'll be arriving  
>Til' the day I die..."<em>

_**Elvis Perkins, "I'll Be Arriving"**_

The lights from the various fires they flew over got suctioned away all at once like they'd been sealed behind a vault. As the Hippogriff descended into the Forbidden Forest, trees closed in on them. Draco had forgotten just how dark and awful the Forest was. When they landed he didn't allow them a moment to pause, he leapt off the Hippogriff and landed with a thud on the hard ground. Glancing round only to check that Hermione had followed his example, he started off in the direction of the school.

Trees closed in on them, leaves and bushes pressed in on them from all sides, brushing Draco's face and shins like thousands of dark hands and from all around them a strange cacophony of sounds emanates: Fluttering things and hooting and animals scrabbling. The air smelt so thickly of earth and fur that it felt textured. It was pitch black. He only knew that Hermione was with him because of her quick-paced breathing behind him. He would have lit his wand to give them some light, but he didn't want to risk alerting anyone working for the Dark Lord in the Forest of their presence. They continued blindly, half feeling and half seeing their way towards Hogwarts.

"Draco-" Hermione started to say. Her voice sounded high and terrified.

Draco felt a stab of guilt in his heart. Of course she'd be afraid, why didn't he think of that? His hand flailed momentarily in the darkness, before finally grabbing onto hers and clutching it tightly. Her hand felt damp and her fingers were like pincers.

"It's okay," He whispered. "You're being so brave, Hermione. Just a little farther I promise."

"Alright." She answered softly.

Draco swallowed at the innocence in her voice. Why did she have to be so damn amazing? His heart was beating so loudly in his chest he could have sworn that the entire Forest could hear it. He was suddenly very aware of her hand on his, and he found himself imagining the shapes that her mouth made when she spoke. Despite the urgency of the situation, he couldn't help but picture his mouth over hers, how she would taste on his lips. How she would be uncertain at first, not understanding what was happening. But he'd teach her. He would make her remember love. Right there on the Forest floor, if he could. But he knew that they had to keep walking; they had to get her safe.

And then, abruptly, the trees just petered out. One second they were in the middle of the forest, penned in on all sides, and the next they were stepping out onto a clearing of grass that was very familiar for Draco. He could see the outline of Hagrid's hut and remembered vividly standing in this same spot, terrified to enter the Forbidden Forest. But times had changed it. The grass, now varied shades of black and brown, was full of holes and buckling in places. Enormous piles of rubble and debris littered the ground, so they had to weave their way around them. All the time Draco didn't take his hand from Hermione's.

In the distance there are shouts and multi-coloured flashes of light. Draco knew they had to go there. He had to find his friends, make sure they were okay, and finally destroy the bane of his life. At some point, he had made the conscious decision to fight against his family. He guessed that was around the same time he fell in love with Hermione.

"Not much more to go now," He whispered and, for some reason, Hermione was glad for his quietness. She felt as though they had just entered a graveyard. Even in the gloom, she could make out the forms of dead creatures – humans or beasts? – Their eyes glazed and staring up, reflecting the dark sky that they couldn't see. There was fighting here at some point, but it must have moved on.

She was all of a sudden very aware of just how alone they were. Everyone else was within the walls of the castle, or just outside it. She'd been alone with his countless times, but this time it felt different. Here there were no eyes waiting to catch them, no Death Eaters ready to tear them apart. Just her and Draco and the darkness. He turned to look at her, his grey eyes penetrating right into her soul. Even though the fighting and all the people were just up the hill from them, she felt as though there was miles and miles of space between them.

When he leant forward to kiss her it was as though the weight of the darkness around them, the death and fear and noises of the Forest, had come beating into her chest, making her feel as though she was dissolving and expanding into the night. There was suddenly a warmth growing inside her, waves of light swelling and breaking and making her feel like she was floating. His fingers laced in her hair, cupped her neck and the back of her head, skimmed over her shoulders. Without thinking about it or meaning to, her hands found the curve of his jaw, brushing against the heat of his skin. Her heart drummed in her chest so hard it hurt, but it was a good hurt. As her hand traced down his shoulder and over his chest, she could swear that his heart was beating in response, an echo of hers, like their bodies were speaking to each other.

Suddenly it was so ridiculously obvious that she felt like laughing. This was what she wanted. This was all she had ever wanted. Everything else – every torture of every day that came before this - meant nothing.

When he finally pulled away it was like a veil had come over her brain, quieting the buzzing in her head, filling her with a calm happiness as deep as any cut that Bellatrix inflicted on her.

"Come on," He said in a hushed voice, keeping his eyes on her, and they walked in a companionable silence towards the looming blackness of the castle together.


	12. Hiding

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Hiding**

"_Without the mask where will you hide?  
>Can't find yourself lost in your lie..."<em>

_**Evanescence, "Everybody's Fool"**_

Draco pulled his wand out when they were outside the castle walls. Quickly he cast a Disillusionment Charm over them both and gently pulled her through the gateway into the courtyard. There was carnage everywhere they looked.

The battleground was clearly divided. The Death Eaters were cackling and capering around, while the Hogwarts staff, students and the Order were falling like dominoes. A student who Draco couldn't name on account of them having no face, just a mess of red and pink flesh, stumbled past them into the path of a Reducto spell. Colin Creevey, who Draco remembered from their second year at Hogwarts as taking photos of the Weasel as he threw up slugs, was backing up against a wall with an unknown Death Eater brandishing their wand at him.

"Close your eyes," Draco said, right into Hermione ear. Though she shut her eyes against the sight of people falling and the flashes of spells, the images were burnt onto her mind with a searing clarity. He rushed her past them, invisible to everyone, and into the school.

The main stairwell was smeared with dirt and small fires had inexplicably been started in random places. Despite Hermione not being able to see, she could smell the burning flesh. Draco was thankful that she had her eyes shut, because the cause of that smell was horrific. They continued on, darting in and out of small skirmishes and bigger battles.

Draco's eyes darted about as they moved undetected through the corridor. Hannah Abbott, casting a Jelly-legs Jinx; Theodore Nott, repeatedly shooting the Cruciatus Curse at Tracey Davis. His fingers tightened around Hermione's hand to stop her flinching from the sounds of screaming and shouting.

Hermione moved blindly, only hearing the horrors and not seeing them. But she could picture the atrocities that were being committed. Her imagination had been shaded by her time in Malfoy Manor, and behind her eyelids she tormented herself with imagined scenes of what Draco was seeing. Eventually, the sound lessened and she was left with only Draco's hand to guide her onward.

They moved into one of the halls, which was empty; all the fighting was going on in larger areas, so they made it to the Room of Requirement fast. The doorway appeared as Draco approached it, his sole purpose to have somewhere safe to hide Hermione. Without pausing he flung the door open and they rushed inside.

Once they were in, the room still forming in swirls around them from Draco's ideal hiding place, Draco removed the Disillusionment Charm and they embraced. Hermione leant her face on his shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief: They were safe now.

When they broke apart he looked at her. Their eyes met and she felt herself remembering what it felt like to kiss him. The heat of his pale skin and the need beneath his touch burnt gloriously in her mind. She wanted to reach over and touch him, but something in his face stopped her.

"I want you to be safe." Draco said earnestly, "I have to go out there. Find Potter. Find... my family..." His voice broke slightly at the mention of his family, "And I can't go out there without guaranteeing you're out of harm's way." His hand brushed her arm lightly, "You've had enough pain to last you a lifetime."

"But I want to be with you!" She protested, gripping his wrist tightly.

He pulled away from her, his expression pained. "No. Hermione you don't have a wand. You don't know the first thing about protecting yourself!" He paused and sighed. "But I promise I'll come back for you, okay? I _promise._"

She nodded, silent now.

"And when I come back, we'll run away together. We'll have a child. Would you like that?" He was smiling now, so certain of their future.

"Yes. I would." She said softly.

"What would you want to call it?" He asked.

Hermione paused, thinking of names she could recall. Her mind flashed for a moment, to a memory she couldn't remember. The inky black sky above her, dotted with silver lights. The stars for a picture. A scorpion. And Hermione remembered.

"Scorpius." She said, simply and triumphantly.

Draco smiled and pulled her close, his hands tangled in her hair. "I love you." He whispered. His voice washed over her the way that sunlight skips over the surface of water. She closed her eyes and felt his lips brush against hers, as light as a feather. Amazingly, she still saw the flashes of light from the spells behind her eyes. But they weren't spells: They were stars. Whole galaxies blooming from nothing – pink and purple suns, green oceans, a thousand white moons.

She opened her eyes and he was gone.


	13. Loving

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Loving**

"_If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks,  
>Then I'll follow you into the dark..."<em>

_**Death Cab For a Cutie, "I'll Follow You Into The Dark"**_

Hermione didn't know how long it was before she moved. Her skin felt like ice and her bones felt like diamonds. She didn't want to lose that amazing tingling feeling rushing through her body.

_I love you._ His words rang into the silence like bells. There it was again: That funny little word that she didn't quite remember. The way his lips felt on hers, his eyes burning like grey coals. Those unbidden thoughts about touching him the way the Death Eaters had sometimes touched her. All of those moments, fragments of her life with Draco.

The poisonous fangs, slashing at her again and again. The molten liquid rushing through her veins and gushing out ever orifice. The high, keening, laughter. The utter anguish of the tortures inflicted upon her. Alone in the Room of Requirement, Hermione remembered every single second of the torment...

_They lead her out of the cell, down a dark passage that magnifies the noise of our stumbling, up and endless staircase and down another long corridor. The air smells of smoke and sweat. And as the smell gets stronger, so does the noise and the walls start to glow golden around the edges. They turn a corner. She realises suddenly that they're taking her to the great hall of the manor. She have just enough time to wonder why, to feel an abrupt weight of fear in her stomach, before she is marched through a curtained archway, into the biggest room she remembers seeing. The ceiling is seemingly miles above her and the walls are so far apart that she feels like they're outside. But that would be crazy. They'd never let her outside._

_She is thrown to her knees upon entering and there's nothing to stop her from crashing to the floor, her hands are chained behind her back. She can't help but cry out in the pain inflicted on her already damaged body, even though she doesn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing her hurt._

_Her mind is buzzing with thoughts. Why do they want her here? What are they going to do to her? How long will she have to stay here?_

_The recognisable sound of Lucius Malfoy's ridiculous shoes clipping on the stone floor make Hermione visibly tense up. Not Lucius. Please God. Not in front of all these people. She didn't want to beg. But he always made her beg._

_Her breath quickened as she felt the tip of his wand lightly tracing over her neck, the feel of cold wood on her skin made her shudder. The Death Eaters watching from the sidelines jeered and cheered in anticipation. Hermione heard the unmistakable sound of Bellatrix Lestrange cackling._

_Her muscles froze in an attempt to protect her from the inevitable pain but it was always the same. No matter what she did to prepare it didn't help. The burning fire flared up inside the marrow of her being and the millions of tiny needles stabbed into her flesh. The scream that tore from her throat was twisted and high, like a bird desperate to escape from the cage of her lungs. It rose above the sound of clapping and roaring from the Death Eaters and fluttered through the foundations of the manor. She didn't think she'd be able to take anymore, that she'd black out from the pain. But, through some horrific miracle, she stayed awake and aware of every single second. The waves of pain begat whirlpools of agony. It would never end. She'd be there forever, on that floor, praying for death. Pleasepleaseplease. No. Filthy Mudblood. Scum. Please. Shut up. _

_In her half-delirious state Hermione thought she heard someone crying. Father. Get him out of here. No Father. Please stop. Bellatrix, take him. Punish him. He needs to learn that Mudbloods cannot be pitied. Then the fire was back, raging through her body and streaming out onto the floor around her..._

Hermione blinked. She knew that voice, that voice she'd heard while Lucius tortured her. It was Draco. He had tried to stop it. He had tried to save her. He was her angel.

She loved him.

She felt her heart give a little skip as that thought skimmed the edges of her mind. She _loved _him. So simple and to the point. That was why she craved his touch. That was why she wanted him near her. That was why his kisses felt like twilight, spinning spider webs around her senses. She loved him. It was so blatantly clear that she wondered why she hadn't seen it before.

And Draco had to know. She remembered how he'd said that he loved her, how he'd wanted to spend forever with her. But she hadn't answered properly. This glowing warmth inside her must be shared with him.

With a new mission on her mind, Hermione stood up. She only swayed slightly, and then she took a step towards she door of the Room of Requirement. Her mantra looped in her head: Find Draco. Tell him you love him. Find Draco.

As she exited the Room of Requirement she was faced with countless people. They all seemed to be flashing spells at one another, or shouting to someone. Hermione felt the hairs on her arms rise as she recognised one name that was repeated. The Dark Lord. Was he here? Would he harm her for running away? What about Bellatrix or Dolohov? Her heart thudded in her chest and she momentarily considered returning to the Room. Then Draco's grey eyes pierced her memory and she knew she had to find him.

Wand-less and powerless, Hermione floated between the fights with surprising ease. Everyone was too busy battling to even notice a grimy girl walking amidst them. In the heat of the battle, names returned to Hermione.

Lavender Brown, her throat torn into ribbons. Neville Longbottom, his brown cardigan ripped. She knew she should care about these people, but she found it impossible to put emotions to names. They were just labels to her: She no longer remembered the people behind them. So caught up was she in naming the faces that she passed, that she didn't see the swirl of black until it was too late.

"Think you can escape, did you Mudblood?" The voice was breathless and gasping, hands shoving Hermione against the wall by the neck, "You thought you could walk away? Nobody walks away from me. You hear me? _Nobody._" Bellatrix's eyes were wild and dark, her nails gripping Hermione's throat and causing tiny droplets of red to prick up.

Hermione stared into the woman's face. Her expression was twisted into a look of utter hatred and malice. The hate she held for Hermione was seated right inside her centre, lodged in her heart. Hermione didn't think, even if Draco taught her everything, she'd ever understand how a person could carry such loathing inside them. The hatred poured from Bellatrix gaze and slithered from her mouth as she smiled a wicked smile.

As Bellatrix raised her wand, Hermione caught sight of a face at the other end of the corridor. It was a face she would have known out of thousands, millions even. His white-blonde hair was wild and dishevelled; his grey eyes wide and terrified. He opened his mouth and screamed her name with such clarity through the other cries of battle, that Hermione was shocked that they didn't all stop to see what was happening. The sound of his pain racked through her soul, into her very core, like a knife. Worse than any pain any of the Death Eaters could ever inflict on her.

Draco watched as the world came to a halt. His aunt raised her wand and pointed it at Hermione. He would have run to help her but his legs wouldn't move. And, somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he knew that it was too late. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Hermione's beautiful face. He stared in silence as she opened her mouth. She was being strangled by Bellatrix, making her words impossible to hear. But the shapes her mouth formed made it clear what she was saying.

"I love you."

There was a flash of green light. And then the world

everything

just

stopped.

She was just a Mudblood. A nameless face among thousands of the dead at the Battle of Hogwarts. She was nobody special. But she had a secret. They could build walls all the way up to the sky and she would find a way to fly above them. They could try and pin her down but she'd find a way to resist. They could break her spirit into pieces, but she'd never lose who she was. And she loved Draco. They could never take that away from her.

Because she had remember the meaning of love. Love. A single word, a wispy thing, no bigger or longer than an edge. That's what it was: an edge; a razor. It drew up through the centre of her life, cutting everything in two. Before and after. The rest of the world fell away on either side.

Before and after – and _during_, a moment no bigger on longer than an edge.

**The End**

**I want to thank****Waldorf-Wannabe1812****, ****manitou2422****, DracoxHermioneLOVER, ****LadyLissaLight****, J****ennifer Apple****, ****Tsuki916****, ****Ramen XD****, ****cup o noodle**** and ****Star-Of-Hearts****. Thank you all for reviewing, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.**


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